


An Extraordinary Evening in the Life of a Totally Normal Human Doctor

by KanarandTarkaleanTea



Series: Perspective Trinity [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Julian's POV, M/M, Present Tense, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-16 00:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13624887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KanarandTarkaleanTea/pseuds/KanarandTarkaleanTea
Summary: Companion piece to "A Ordinary Day in the Life of a Plain and Simple Tailor" A character study from Julian's POV. Un-beta'd. Apologies for typos!





	An Extraordinary Evening in the Life of a Totally Normal Human Doctor

21:35. Doctor Julian Bashir looks at himself one last time in the mirror. He knows he looks good in a tuxedo. Well actually, he thinks he looks good in pretty much anything, no matter what his tailor-friend might think about the clothes he sometimes wears. In spite of this, he is anxious. One thing he can safely say is that the doctors on Adigeon Prime did a good job in augmenting his physical appearance.

Their work in preparing him for “normal” social interactions and simulating “regular” human responses to emotional stimuli: not so much.

He’s been a mess all day. He’d slept fitfully for six hours, 22 minutes. He’d been distracted at work. He’d gone over and over again each thing he planned to do in preparation for lunch, until, finally, at 11:43 he headed to Quark’s (76 steps) to pick up lunch. He waited a full nine minutes, 53 seconds for Rom to finally give him the package. 120 hurried steps from Quarks to the replimat, where he set the table for Garak and himself.

Then, 12:03 arrived, his lunch companion had arrived, and… well, his mind had stopped paying attention to the time.

And when hadn’t Garak’s presence been enough to completely disrupt the usual click-click-clicking of his mind? The answer, of course, was never. From the very first moment the tailor had approached him, the man had been able to cut through the usual background hum of incessant thought and calculation, nervous analysis and anticipation, shifting the landscape of Julian’s mind to something more… unorganized. Something more organic.

At first, the sensation had been odd and uncomfortable; his statistical analysis and careful research into how to behave around humanoids hadn’t anticipated the gliding contradictions that the Cardassian presented. From his research, before he’d been posted to Deep Space Nine, he knew that, Cardassians would present a particular challenge to his ability, or lack of, to comprehend their emotions and intentions. According to what little information he’d been able to find, their minds functioned much differently than most humanoid species, and their relationship with expression was also unique. He had thought, however, that he had adequately prepared how to handle the enigmatic race.

Then a certain tailor came over and unsettled his pre-conceptions, effectively setting his careful study and tabulation back to square one.

Back to the present. He gives his reflection a final nod in the mirror. 21:45 he heads over to Quark’s. When he goes to the bar, the Ferengi’s look is knowing.

“So, tonight’s the big night,” the barkeeper says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responds, and he knows it is unconvincing.

“Sure you don’t.”

Julian orders a shot of whiskey, the real stuff. He anticipates it will take about three minutes 45 seconds before he feels its effects based on the amount of food he’s had that day and his current hydration level. He downs it, and Quark refills the glass without being told.

“On the house.”

“That’s disturbingly generous,” Julian says, and he calculates the various reasons why the greedy little man would actually part with something without asking anything in return. The highest probability ends up being that he has, (or is about to), win money on one of his pari-mutuel gambling schemes that somehow depends on Julian’s actions.

“If your night goes as I suspect, I’ll make back the latinum,” Quark says, then starts to go into some of the details about the betting pool revolving around the facets of Julian’s relationship with Garak. Julian feels the first sensation of alcohol entering his bloodstream.

“Please, I don’t want to know anymore,” Julian says before the bartender has a chance to become truly unsavory. As is often the case, the fact that his analysis proved to be correct does not actually make Julian feel better. “There had better not be any surveillance equipment in the holosuites, Quark.”

“Of course not, doctor,” the man assures him.

“And even if there was, I rather suspect that all he’ll get tonight is static.”

It takes less than a second for Julian to turn around. He sees Garak.

And his internal timekeeper stops.

The man is magnificent (he obviously ignored Julian’s directive not to put too much thought into his wardrobe because Garak is dressed to the nines) and Julian once again marvels how his thought process can be completely derailed based solely on the tailor’s proximity. He clears his throat.

“Um, hi,” he says with a complete lack of eloquence.

“Good evening, doctor.” Julian feels himself flush as Garak’s gaze takes in his appearance. While the expression that settles on his face couldn’t be described as leering, there is definitely an undercurrent of desire and appreciation. Even though Julian knows he is good looking, the fact that Garak finds him attractive helps him feel a bit more comfortable and suave. Eases the social anxiety. His nervousness abates to a manageable level.

He is 97.3% sure that Garak understands his intent behind inviting him to the holosuites, but there is always the risk of cross-cultural miscommunication. However, the way that Garak places his large hand at the base of Julian’s spine as he guides him towards the stairs, about five centimeters lower than he ever has before and just on the verge of actually groping him, reassures Julian that they’re both on the same page.

For several weeks he’d been running possible scenarios through his mind about how he wanted to approach Garak about starting an intimate relationship. In spite of the man’s trust issues, Julian is relatively sure that Garak does actually trust him in a general way. Julian does not trust Garak in the strictest meaning of the word — but that does not mean he is unwilling to attempt a romantic relationship with him (this is in spite of the high probability of disastrous outcomes — his IQ was enhanced, after all, not his EQ).

They pass through the door to holosuite three, and they’re standing in a replica of a hotel room in a resort on Trill. Julian had gone back and forth over where he wanted them to spend their evening, but had finally settled on this locale after Jadzia had suggested it to him (and loaned him the program). The room is palatial; and a spa is located through a wide doorway to the right.

“This seems a rather wholesome venue to begin a seedy spy adventure. Or perhaps I misinterpreted the intention behind your invitation.”

Julian can’t tell whether there is a note of disappointment behind the glib tone of Garak’s voice or not. Had he actually wanted to go back to Julian’s Hong Kong apartment? Hadn’t he expressed distaste for the décor and the far-fetched narrative at every opportunity? Julian’s mind begins re-running probabilities…

… when Garak wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him into a kiss — effectively wiping Julian’s mind of anything but the sensations of the body pressed flush against his, of cool, dry lips on his own, and of strong, large hands running up and down his backside.

Julian’s computations had not returned this result; the “best” case scenario he’d come up with was that he’d have to have a conversation about what he wanted with Garak (who would no doubt run him around in verbal circles) before he finally had any physically intimate contact with the tailor. There were too many variables that made Garak’s need to be convinced to pursue anything more than distant friendship an exceptionally high probability; his distrust, his fear for his standing on the station, his constant emotional distancing.

Before he can process anything, or respond to the contact, Garak pulls back. There is a questioning tilt to his head. Julian thinks he can see vulnerability etched around the lines of his face, but expressions can be hard enough to understand in humans, let alone other species. “Did I misunderstand… Jullian?”

Hearing Garak finally, finally use his name takes Julian aback, but where he had been unprepared for the intimacy before — and faltered — his heart and instinct take over, and now it is he who steps into Garak’s personal space, who leans in to hover his lips above Garak’s mouth, and wraps his arms around the slightly shorter man’s neck, pressing his forearms against the ridges in a way that, he’s proud to hear, makes Garak’s breath hitch.

Time again loses all meaning. A minute could have passed or a millennia. No one but Garak alters Julian’s perception in this way. No one has ever been able to take him out of himself. He isn’t thinking, only feeling. And he loves it.

“Julian,” Garak whispers against his lips.

“Elim,” he whispers back, and he feels a puff of air against his face; a chuckle.

“I had wondered if you’d figured it out.”

He thinks briefly about pulling back, of explaining how Tain had been the one to confirm Garak’s first name. Or, he considers, he might try to get them back on the timeline he’d mentally established, insisting that they sit down and discuss desired outcomes. He knows his reputation around the station and wants to tell Garak — Elim — that he doesn’t just want this to be a fling. That after years of being spun like a top by Garak’s enigmatic nature and playful innuendo, that after saving the man’s life more than once by going well above the call of duty, he’s finally comfortable enough with the idea of starting something deeper. That he hopes Garak wants the same thing.

He wants to whisper “I’m in love with you” into Elim’s ear. He really wants Elim to whisper it back, and to know that he means it; that he isn’t lying.

But his analysis of admitting his feelings so early had not lead to positive results.

Elim is nuzzling his neck, now, the scales and ridges that line his nose a delightful new experience. He can feel thick cords lining muscle groups firmly underneath his fingers as he touches Elim’s back and arms. Nights spent imagining the man’s physique — how he would explore the uncharted terrain of his body — flash through his mind. His breath stutters at the thought that he will soon be able to experience his fantasies in real life.

He doesn’t realize he’s thrusting his hips until there is another mirthful exhalation against his sensitized skin. He blushes at his eagerness. He can feel the heat in his cheeks.

“My dear,” Elim says, his words more resonant in his chest than usual. Julian can feel it reverberate around his own rib cage. “As much as I hate to stop, I want to make sure I understand your expectations surrounding this rendezvous.”

Oh! He hadn’t anticipated that Elim would be the one to want to bring it up. Frankly, he’d figured he’d have to drag the man metaphorically kicking and screaming into any kind of serious, open conversation regarding the parameters of their relationship and how he wanted them to change.

Once again, he was thrilled at how the tailor managed to throw his precisely analyzed probabilities out the airlock and surprise him.

He entwines their fingers and pulls Elim over to sit on the bed. He takes a moment to assess the man’s appearance: darkened ridges and chufa, dilated eyes — he’s absolutely breathtaking to behold. Julian makes a decision without estimating outcomes and sits on the tailor’s lap. The way that those large hands wrap around his waist and pull him close tell him that he made the right decision. He wriggles a little bit on top of a sheath that he hopes is as sensitive as his own genitals are. His heartbeat thunders when Elim pulls in a hissed inhalation.

“So,” he says with a confidence inspired by the desirous undertone in that hiss and the look in his lover’s eyes that he recognizes as “ravenous”. “You say you want to know what I expect? But the problem is, after knowing you for so many years, I’ve tried to break myself of expecting anything.” He leans in, rubs his cheek against Elim’s. “Instead, would you be satisfied if I told you instead what I’m hoping for?”

The tailor laughs. “Yes, I suppose that would suffice.”

“Well, in terms of tonight, what I’m hoping for is for you to make love to me.”

The growl that his admission elicits sends a fresh surge of desire through him. “I think I can oblige.”

“But that isn’t the only thing I’m hoping for.” Elim quirks an eye ridge in inquiry. “I’m hoping I get to make love to you, too. And for more nights than just tonight. And maybe during the day, too. And I’m hoping even more that we can start having more than just lunches together. That we can have dinners, as well. In our quarters.” There is a slight shift in Elim’s demeanor, and Julian feels a flash of fear that he’s gone too far, is presenting as being too needy, just like he so often does. He attempts to backpedal. “But if you only want to have sex tonight… or at night… or if you’d rather we…”

“My dear, when you say “our quarters” do you mean taking turns having dinner in our respective quarters?” He visibly swallows, and Julian thinks his facial expression is exhibiting vulnerability again. “Or were you referring to — in the future, of course — possibly sharing quarters?”

Julian can feel his mouth going slightly agape, his eyes opening wide. “Would it be too much to hope for if I said the latter?”

Elim closes his eyes, buries his face in Julian’s neck. His lips are soft and tentative on his skin. “Is it too much for me to hope that this is real and not just a wonderful, implausible dream?”

He lifts Elim’s face, and the rawness of the emotion there is too much. He doesn’t think he fully understands it, but he knows that it is real. That it is true.

A weight he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying in his chest is suddenly lifted and he feels lighter, more complete, less anxious, than he ever has before.


End file.
